Duty and Honor (NOW: COURAGE RISES)
by mrb2016
Summary: Now free on Kindle Unlimited until November 14th 2018! Only First Three Chapters-Full Text Available on Amazon. After the wedding. Richard Fitzwilliam calls on his cousin Darcy to help him fulfill a troublesome debt of honor, while Elizabeth Darcy, left in charge at Pemberely, is faced with her first real test as mistress...
1. Chapter 1

**Note: Amazon Pre-order is now available! The Book will be out July 31st!**

 **Look under the title _Courage Rises: A Pride and Prejudice Continuation_. I've had to take most of the story down due to Amazon rules, but the first three chapters are here so you can see if you like it!  
**

 **(Please note that this is Book 1 of 2 so that I could take my time to expand some of the storylines. A bit of the first chapter of the second book is in the published version of this one).**

 **A huge thank you to all my reviewers! You gave me wonderful ideas for both the final revision of this story and its companion novel, which I hope to have completed and on Amazon by the beginning of 2017. I will post the draft here before that, though!**

 **Melanie**

 **Chapter One**

Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam rubbed at tired eyes and tried to focus. Now that they had successfully crossed the Zadorra, the adjutant was outlining Wellington's plan to chase down the increasingly desperate French forces. As far as he could tell, it was not complex—overtake and overwhelm the enemy with numbers. Taking the high ground and finding the bridge unguarded had given them an advantage, but it had been nearly a fortnight of nasty business, and the men were growing bitter.

As he turned his head towards the door, he spied a familiar boy from the 95th in a green and black uniform caked in mud, a well-used but spotless Baker rife in his hand, a single captain's epaulette on his shoulder. He was leaning against the wall next to a rather larger companion, listening but, the Colonel thought, given the boy's crossed arms and hearty frown, not approving.

At first, Richard focused only on the Baker rifle and thought, disjointedly, that he would very much like to own one. Without moving anything other than his eyes, he lifted his gaze. The captain had his hat jammed down over his forehead so it was difficult to see his face. He had spoken briefly with the boy several times over the past few weeks, occasionally giving him orders to carry back to his own colonel. Blue eyes, he thought, trying to remember the face. The boy had intensely blue eyes and a fierce scowl.

Then as now, the captain had appeared young, and it had bothered the Colonel, though he could not say precisely why. He knew many young fighting men no older than the captain, even a few officers. He narrowed his eyes, trying to clear the fog from his vision. A few strands of sunny yellow hair curled out from under the captain's hat. He had known a few other men who looked boyish even in their thirties, but they were generally not soldiers. The captain was of medium height, but though strong, he was also slight of build. The boy's coloring, particularly the shade of golden hair, put him suddenly in mind of his young cousin Georgiana. Perhaps that was why he would feel better if the captain was older. He quickly shook that thought away. He could not think of home now. If he hoped to return in one piece he would need to focus on what they were facing today. There was a grim job to be done and no easy way to do it. Despite all the talk, it would come down to what it always did, throwing men at the guns and hoping there were enough to overpower the defending army. That meant bullets, cannon, bodies. He ducked his head again and rubbed the back of his neck, trying to relieve the tight, knotted muscles.

The 95th was given its charge, to disrupt the ranks by targeting the officers before the real fighting began and then to assist Wellington and his men. By the twist of the boy's mouth and the brusque nod of his head, the Colonel could see that he was prepared. He jumped distractedly to another thought, that the 95th did not sell commissions as often as the rest of the army. He wondered whether the boy had won his promotion through competition or merit. The riflemen were far more likely to rise in such ways, and the captain had probably earned his rank. He grunted softly in approval and Wellington himself finally stood to release them with a wave of his hand.

Richard stood up, watching the the general stride out of the room with his entourage, and stretched his aching limbs. He blinked a few times, trying to shake himself into wakefulness, and found the young man he had been watching suddenly at his side, shoving a mug of steaming hot coffee into one hand and a thick slab of folded bread into the other.

"You look done in, Colonel," he said in a young voice hoarse with smoke. "We plan to be off soon. You had best eat."

"Thank you, boy," Richard replied, looking blankly at his hands for a moment before taking a gulp of the coffee. The hot liquid warmed his throat and helped clear his head.

Suddenly, it seemed important to ask, "What is your name?"

The boy looked up into the Colonel's face. Richard was tall, a good four inches taller than the captain, but it did not seem to bother the younger man.

"Captain Oliver Hawkes, sir. Out of Kent."

Richard transferred the mug to his left hand and stuck out his right. "I am Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam." Captain Hawkes narrowed his eyes, frowning, and Richard almost laughed. Apparently Hawkes had already known who he was. He nodded, feeling a little better. "Kent. You might know of my Aunt de Bourgh."

"Lady Catherine de Bourgh?" the young man chuckled softly. "Yes, I suppose I have heard of her. More like _heard_ her, if you do not mind my saying, sir. I was more acquainted with Miss Anne. Good girl, that. Made sure we was all fed and rested before setting off for Hythe. Quite kind. Your cousin?"

"Indeed," the Colonel replied, too exhausted to feel more than a small spark of curiosity. He had not thought Anne well enough to take an interest in much outside Rosings. He raised the mug. "Thank you again, Captain."

The boy nodded curtly and moved to go. He picked up his rifle, turning as he reached the door. "Godspeed, Colonel," he said gruffly. He clapped his waiting companion on the shoulder, and they both slipped through the door and were gone.

"Godspeed, Captain," said Richard softly, swallowing the bread in two bites. He tasted a bit of beef and wondered where the captain had managed to get it. He downed the rest of the coffee, sat the mug down, and walked out into the rapidly cooling summer night, calling for his horse. As he swung up in to the saddle, he gazed at the harvest moon sitting low in the afternoon sky. _Someday_ , he thought _, it would be nice to visit Spain and Portugal without the need to be armed_.

Colonel Fitzwilliam had briefed his men. Now he swung up onto his horse, where, from his perch above the massing troops, he could just make out the green coats of the men working across the river and farther down towards town, already busy disrupting the lines by taking shots from distance at the officers following Gazan. The artillery was beginning to fire. He said a brief prayer, more out of habit than belief, and with a shout, began to move his men into position across the bridge and behind the 95th.

The order came to charge, and within a few moments, there was nothing to consider but the roar of artillery, the heat of fire, and the salty, metallic smell of blood. To the left of him, the ground heaved, showering him with dirt. He could hardly hear anything over the sound of the impact, the explosion. He fought to control his mount as they staggered to the right, though he managed to keep his seat. Another blast kicked up to the right and slightly behind him, and his horse reared in fright. Richard hung on with all his strength, but just as the animal came down to rest on all four legs, there was a final blast, this one directly ahead. He did not see the bodies flying or feel the earth raining down upon him, because he was falling, his horse screaming as it lost its footing. He instinctively rolled away to keep from being caught under the beast as it fell. He could have wept for his steed, lying there in the mud of the battlefield. Odd, he thought, detached, shots and canon firing all around him, that there was something more heart rending about losing the horse's life than his own. He crawled back to see whether he would need to spend a bullet to put the creature out of its misery, but this was not a country field and a simply broken leg. Instead, the entire chest of the animal had been torn to shreds by shrapnel. He cursed, checked his sword, grabbed his gun, and pushed forward.

He was well behind his men, now, and he hurried to catch up. He looked to ahead and realized that the 95th was streaming into the chase ahead of his men rather than keeping to the higher ground. He felt a fleeting annoyance. They were being detained, left out in full range of the cannons, while the battle plan was disregarded. The men of the 95th had clearly not wished to be used as support. He shoved up ahead, reaching his regiment quickly, when he heard some yell something about a mine and then felt a slight but very strong body slamming into him, knocking him sideways behind the protection of a copse he had not observed before. As he staggered to the side, behind the protection of a few small trees, the air was suddenly sucked from his lungs and a massive wind tossed him back through the air, pushing him to the earth at last as though an unseen hand had shoved him down from a great height.

Richard lay still, tangled in the brush, eyes closed tight and arms thrown wide while he struggled to fill his lungs. He felt a throbbing pain in his leg, but could not sit up to evaluate the damage. After a long moment, his lungs filled and he gasped as though he had been drowning. He opened his eyes in time to see a young captain in a green and black uniform dragging himself slowly across the field on his belly, the back of his green coat torn in long jagged, bloody lines. _Where is he going_? Richard thought hazily, watching him reach for something but not yet able to place where he was or what he himself was doing there.

He blinked a few times and tried to rise, but the ringing in his ears just became louder, more insistent. He rolled onto his side and lifted himself slightly on one arm, his head only slowly beginning to clear. As hard as he had been tossed, it took too long to recognize that there was a man standing above him and longer still to realize that the man was wearing a French uniform. Somehow, over everything, he heard the unmistakable cocking of a pistol. Perhaps he imagined that he had heard it. Richard struggled to look the man in the eye. If this was to be his death, he would stare it down. The shot came immediately.

Richard heard the shot, but did not feel it and was almost angry. _How the deuce did he miss from so short a distance_? Then he saw the soldier falling, slumping to the earth, the pistol dropping harmlessly from his hand. Richard tried again to rise, but his body would not allow it. He laid his head back down on his arm and spied a shock of blond hair. It was Captain Oliver Hawkes. The boy had lost his hat. His yellow curls were bright against a face smeared with gunpowder residue, mud, and blood, and he was sitting on the ground in the Plunkett position, his legs stretched out before him, a curl of smoke twisting up from his rifle. The captain slowly, carefully rolled over on his stomach and tried to push himself up, rifle in his hand, but his balance was unsteady, and as he watched the boy finally collapse in a bloody heap, Richard closed his eyes _. Just a little rest,_ he thought, as a sunny slope in the north of England and the face of his young cousin began to dance in his vision. _I am weary._


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Elizabeth Darcy was awake. Though the sunlight was only beginning to seep weakly through the drawn curtains, she had been awake for some time. She watched the boughs of the trees swaying in the wind, heard them rubbing, one bough against the other. She pulled the covers up to her chin and sighed. It was not a pleasant dream or even a nightmare that had kept her from her rest, but the need to review her responsibilities for the day.

It had been nearly four months since their wedding tour had concluded. Four months since she had arrived at Pemberley as its mistress, and understood, completely, what it meant to be Mrs. Darcy. Her husband had been involved in the final weeks of the planting, and she had been busy taking her place as Mrs. Darcy, greeting the neighborhood, becoming familiar with the tenants, and learning how to manage the house. During the day she was able to tuck the doubts away, but at night she had time to think and to worry. Today she was needed to go over the menus with Mrs. Cronk so that the cook could complete the weekly order. Both beef and sugar should be arriving today, and she would need to supervise the weighing of each parcel, comparing the weight against the charge. She had already discovered that the butcher had been sending slightly less beef than the receipts promised, in an attempt, she supposed, to test whether the young mistress would keep strict accounts. In some of the orders for flour she had discovered small rocks at the bottom of the sacks. Lately the orders had been measuring up nearly perfectly without such assistance, much to her satisfaction, but she was keenly aware that should her diligence waver in the least that many would be quick to take advantage. _Foolish,_ she thought _, to risk losing as large an account such as Pemberley for a few extra pennies._

She shut her eyes and rubbed one dark curl between her finger and thumb. Despite her husband's assurances, she understood human nature. While they would never show their disapproval in front of the master of Pemberley, she knew that the tenants of the estate, many of the townspeople in Lambton, the local gentry, even the servants were watching for her to make a mistake, to reveal in some way that she had not been the correct choice as his wife. She had heard the whispers and read the incredulous glances. The neighbors had been less obvious, but no less astonished. She would not have cared for their good opinion, she thought stubbornly, but she cared a great deal for her husband's reputation. She smiled to herself at the thought. How abominably proper she had become. Where was the spirited Lizzy of Longbourn now? No, if she were truly being honest with herself, she thought wistfully, it was more than their admiration and respect she wanted. She wanted, most of all, to feel herself worthy of them.

Elizabeth gazed around her room. It was all still so new to her, the intricately carved bedstead, the sky blue silk curtains, the thick woolen rug done in blues and greens that covered the floor. There was a new copper tub in the room just off her chambers, where she took a bath almost every night. It was the one luxury she had adapted to quickly and with joy. When William had teased that he had married a sister of Beau Brummel, she had replied, archly, that a bath every night would not hurt _him,_ either, particularly when he had been out riding. She had relished the hearty laugh that was his response.

She hoped that after finishing with Mrs. Cronk in the kitchen that she might be able to breakfast with William before he rode out to the northern fields. He had mentioned the night before that he would need to inspect a tenant's barn roof damaged by a recent storm. Then she would answer her correspondence and take some food out to the Wrights, whose two little boys had been ill. After that, she would speak with the head gardener about planning the fall vegetable garden now that the summer garden was in and growing. Mrs. Cronk had gone over the needs of the kitchen with her the day before. She could have left this to Mrs. Cronk's care, but before she relinquished these kinds of duties, she wanted to understand them.

Elizabeth heaved a great sigh and thought she might as well get dressed and begin her day. As she reached for the bell to call her maid, there was a soft knock on the door, and William stepped quietly inside.

"Good morning, Mrs. Darcy," he said with a gentle smile. She still blushed a little when he came into her chamber before she was dressed, and the gleam in his eyes betrayed his approval. His dark hair was tousled, as though he had already been outside in the wind.

 _Mrs. Darcy_ , he thought to himself as he gazed upon the lovely picture his wife made in her nightclothes. Calling her by his name was still unreasonably thrilling.

She smiled, but noted that he was already wearing his riding clothes, and tried to hide her disappointment.

"Are you on your way out?" she said quietly, looking up into his eyes. "I had hoped to breakfast with you before you left." She retreated to the bed to sit. He sat beside her and took her hand.

"No, it is best if I conclude this business quickly. I have no desire to miss dining with you this evening." He kissed her forehead and she leaned in, laying her head on his shoulder.

"I will miss you while you are gone, but I promise not to allow the butcher to cheat us in your absence," she laughed lightly, and raised her head to look him in the eye. A stray lock of hair fell over his forehead and she reached out to put it in place. He grinned, a lopsided smile that smoothed his features and made him appear boyish. It was a smile Elizabeth adored, particularly because it appeared rarely, and nearly always for her alone. She touched his coat gently, quickly eyeing his apparel to be sure he was dressed warmly. Even in the summer the mornings were still damp and could be cool.

"I am certain he is ruing the day I married such a shrewd wife. He has probably been cheating me for years."

"Mrs. Cronk would never allow it."

"She has admitted that she was often occupied when his parcels arrived late, undoubtedly by design. She has said to Mrs. Reynolds that she is delighted with the young mistress taking him to task." He watched for her smile, but instead a silent blush spread across her cheeks.

Yes, she thought as she offered William a kiss, this was just the beginning of her education. It was essential that she become the partner that her husband needed and deserved. For so long he had done everything himself. She wanted him to feel more at liberty to enjoy the estate from time to time, rather than always being required to run it.

She looked over his shoulder, lost in her thoughts, and a small sigh escaped her. Every day when she awoke, she prayed a short prayer, hoping that William's belief in her had not been misplaced. She felt his warm hands on her shoulders as he pulled away to study her. She looked up into his face, which had become serious.

"Never doubt my faith in you," he said with a small shake of his head. She tilted her head quizzically and he raised his eyebrows. His blue eyes met her serious brown ones. William Darcy watched, pleased when his young wife's expression changed from anxiety and embarrassment to its more natural state of cheerful mischievousness.

"Your face tells me everything I need to know," he said gruffly. "It is one of the reasons I love you. Now," he said, planting a kiss on top of her head and standing, "if I do not leave directly, I shall never get to the north fields today. Remember, as always, Mrs. Reynolds is a patient instructor should you need her, and John will accompany you and Georgiana to the Wrights this afternoon. I will see you this evening, my love." He tugged purposefully at his waistcoat.

"Very well," she said, smiling. "Georgiana and I will attempt to wait for you, but we shall be quite hungry by dinner and if you are not prompt I make no promises." With a chuckle and another quick kiss, he was out the door, and Elizabeth was ringing for her maid.

The parcels had been closely examined and exactly measured. After the last boy exited the kitchen, Elizabeth touched Mrs. Cronk's arm and laughed, "Do you think they are understanding us now?" The cook smiled broadly and nodded her head almost gleefully. Elizabeth checked her list. There had been far more activity than she had expected. The butcher had been there but there had also been separate deliveries of flour, sugar, eggs and vegetables from the home farm.

"I think they won't dare try an' cheat you again, ma'am," she said emphatically. "It does me good to see it, and I'm only too glad you have thrown a rub in his way. I will nay put up with his slum again." Elizabeth smiled, genuinely pleased at her approbation and shared a teasing glance with the buxom woman. She always felt something like an elf standing next to a giant with Mrs. Cronk, who was at least a head taller and twice as wide. Her wild curls had once been red, but were now streaked with gray, and no matter how she attempted to subdue them, a few always managed to escape her cap. Elizabeth had rarely met as amiable a woman or as capable a cook, and was pleased to have her confidence.

Mrs. Cronk drew herself up proudly, feeling a good deal of pleasure in Mrs. Darcy's clear approval. By God, she had not been at all sure when the master had brought this pretty young woman home. Many of these young new wives, guided by the fashion dictates of London, wanted men to run their kitchens and French cooks at that, but not Mrs. Darcy. At the end of their first dinner party, she had been asked whether there would be a change in the kitchen, and Mrs. Darcy, bless her, had stated quite pleasantly, and for all to hear, that her singularly accomplished English cook was a treasure she could never willingly relinquish.

Mrs. Cronk had been thrilled and grateful to have been so publicly praised. She knew the mistress would suffer some gossip in the neighborhood on account of that statement, and her loyalty had been unfailingly engaged. Jacob, one of the footmen who had helped serve the meal reported that the bold but quite proper pronouncement had made Mr. Darcy glance at his plate and smile. As young and pretty as she was, the mistress had some steel in her.

"If he does, we shall know how to respond, Mrs. Cronk, shall we not?" Elizabeth squeezed the older lady's arm affectionately and then said slyly, "I am off to breakfast. Do you think it will be quite up to expectations, as you were engaged with me this morning?"

Mrs. Cronk was indignant. "Of course, Madam. Everything on the table has been properly supervised. I…" she stopped suddenly as she realized she was being teased. "Off with you, then," she said in good humor as the mistress pretended to be scandalized at her familiarity. There was something to be said for young women who did not always stand on fashion or rank, she thought, as Mrs. Darcy walked away with a light step. She would do very well. Very well indeed.

Fitzwilliam Darcy guided his horse along the road to the northern fields of the estate, distracted by his early morning conversation with Elizabeth. He was proud of how well she had adapted to her new role as mistress of Pemberley, but she still seemed dissatisfied with her progress. He would find a way to show her that it was only her own expectations that she yet to meet. _Stubborn woman_ , he thought with affection. She seemed to be attempting to become a Darcy with everything that she had, but she had not been raised to be a Darcy, and he thanked God for that. There were two in residence at Pemberley already, and that was quite enough. Once his lovely young bride fully accepted that he needed her to be only who she was, everything would turn out right.

He spurred his horse to a trot, eager to finish his business and return to his wife. He heard hoofs on the road and looked to his left, where his steward, Mr. Harrison, was riding to meet him.

"Morning, sir," said Harrison. He was a short, stocky man with powerful shoulders. His head was almost completely bald, and as such he was rarely without his hat. He had been steward for only six months, hired when Mr. Bacon had retired, and Darcy was not yet convinced this new man would last. If the Howards' barn roof had been badly damaged in the last storm, then it had been left untouched for nearly a fortnight. These repairs had to be conducted promptly so that any materials required could be made or ordered and the work begun. It did not sit right with him that with no pressing crises, this had not been attended within a few days of being reported.

"Harrison," he nodded.

"A nice day for the ride, sir."

"Yes."

Harrison lifted his hat and scratched his head as they rode in silence. He had been steward at Pemberley for nearly six months, but was not entirely comfortable working with its taciturn master. He was more comfortable when left to his own devices to run things, but Mr. Darcy and his new bride seemed to be more interested in staying home than in traveling to participate in the London season or to the homes of other friends. Mrs. Reynolds had mentioned something about her master finally settling down now that he was married, and Harrison cursed his luck to finally fall into a lucrative situation just at the moment when he would have to work twice as hard to earn the money. His employer had seemed displeased when he had been informed about the roof by Mr. Howard. He had not expected that the master would accompany him out to the north fields, so it had not occurred to him to relay the news earlier.

"I expect the repair will be a small one, sir. You need not attend if you have other business." If he could just get the man to go home, the repair would be done quickly and finished.

"Let us judge when we see it, Harrison." Darcy said slowly. He did not appreciate the steward's attempts to turn him back. It made him suspect that the repair would not be small and that Harrison would like to hide that fact. He knew his tenants. Had it been an easy repair, Howard would have seen to it himself.

Half an hour later, he was in the barn, looking up at the cool blue sky through what little was left of a barn roof. The timbers inside had been soaked from the rains a few days past, and water still dripped intermittently to the ground. The animals were being housed on the far side of the structure where the roof had held. This was the only barn on the property. Clearly this repair should have been addressed immediately to prevent further damage. He stepped outside where Harrison stood.

"Harrison," he said sharply.

"Yes sir?"

"The repair must be attended to today and completed by the end of the week. I will have Mr. Howard send a note directly to me when the work is finished. Tell Mr. Hall at the mill that he may contact me about paying for an expedited order." He stepped a little closer so that the next part would not be overheard. "This was not well done, Harrison," he growled quietly. "The tenants must make a profit so that I can make a profit. I know you have not worked this far north before, but the weather can turn quickly any time of year, and your delay in attending to the damage might have cost Howard some of his livestock. I am putting you on notice, Harrison. This will not occur again."

Harrison nodded, his jaw clamped shut, the muscles working. What did the man expect? He was not some green boy. He had many things to tend on an estate this size and had taken everything in its order. The weather had not turned from the soft summer rains nor had he heard Howard complain about losing any livestock. There was no harm done here. Certainly no cause for the master to pull caps with him. He said nothing as Mr. Darcy mounted his horse and took his leave, knowing it would do no good, but it chafed. He tugged at his hat and turned to walk to the house to arrange the repair. The master was leaving soon for London, and Harrison could not wait to have him away.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Slowly, slowly, Colonel Fitzwilliam became aware that the cannons had gone silent. He forced his eyelids open with a groan and discovered himself in a small stone room with two other men laid out on stretchers. He stared at the ceiling and tried to recall why he was here. His leg ached, and his ears were ringing. The only thing he could hear over the constant whine were the screams coming from outside the door. A few candles sputtered weakly on a table nearby. He glanced over at the man next to him, wincing at the pain in his head. Another colonel. He could not see the third man, only a pair of muddy boots. He tried to rise, but his head was still not clear, and the floor pitched unsteadily, so he reluctantly leaned back and remained still.

When he opened his eyes again it was nearly dawn. The door was opening and a short man with broad shoulders and straight dark hair stepped cautiously inside, holding a lit candle. Richard recognized Major Beaufort and weakly raised a hand in greeting.

"Colonel," he said, stepping to Richard. "I came to see how you fared."

"A little the worse for wear, I fear," Richard said weakly and tried to grin. The Major half grinned in response.

"It does me good to hear to hear you speak some sense. You were quite out of your head when we dragged you back here." The lapels of his jacket were smeared with bloody handprints.

"I will not ask what I said, then. What happened?"

"Not sure. Cannon perhaps even a mine, sir. Most effective. Our losses were heavy indeed. Fortunately you were somewhat protected by the trees."

"Captain Hawkes shoved me into the copse." He had done more, too, if Richard could only remember.

"I do not think I know the man."

"He is with the 95th, and I believe he was injured. Would you do me the favor of asking about him? He is quite young. Has blond hair."

"Of course, Colonel. Are you in need of anything else?" Beaufort's face was stoic, but Richard heard the concern in his voice. What the devil had he said earlier? He had no idea, but it seemed to have badly rattled his friend. With some effort, he smiled, a complete smile. "A new head and some quiet country living would suit." _Perhaps William will help me choose a new horse_.

The major chuckled and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Aye, you are not alone in that. I will go ask about the captain, and then I must get back to it." He paused before continuing, "The men are not right, Colonel. They are angrier than I have yet seen, even at Roderigo. I fear that once the town is taken, they may not . . . stop."

Richard closed his eyes. "A concern of mine as well. See if you can talk to Sergeant Miller. He knows to whom among the men he may apply for assistance." Beaufort nodded and slipped out of the room. It was nearly another hour complete before Richard recalled the French soldier, the pistol, and Hawkes' timely shot. _I should have died,_ he thought grimly _. If there is anything I can do for the boy, I must see to it_. The incessant ringing in his ears had at last begun to subside, so when Beaufort returned, he heard the door swing open gently and opened his eyes.

Beaufort stepped over to his side, but looked intently at his feet. After an uncomfortable few seconds, Richard croaked, "Well?"

"I am sorry to say he is not here, sir. At least, not anymore."

Richard's heart sank. He recalled the bloody jacket, the boy collapsing. Beaufort fidgeted, a folded sheet of paper in his hand.

"What are you holding, Beaufort?"

"A letter. It was in the captain's pocket, sir, at least, that is what the surgeon says." He paused. "Were you familiar with the captain, sir?"

"No. We had spoken, but I knew little of him. Why?"

"The letter sir. It is addressed to you."


End file.
